The Landlady Series
by StarvingScriptWriter
Summary: Tony DiNozzo through the eyes of his landlord. Spoilers for pretty much everything. Rated T to be safe.
1. Enter Gladys Scarapelli

_A/N: I read a series once in the Stargate universe that I found absolutely fascinating. Written by a person I know only as DietCokeChick, the series was called "The Barista", and it was written from the viewpoint of Daniel's Barista. It was a wonderful concept, to watch the life of our accident-prone archaeologist through the eyes of his coffee pusher, and I was always impressed with the well-written series. The idea came to me that our intrepid Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo might need someone like this in his life. An elderly landlady who found it her duty to keep watch over young Anthony, to make sure he took care of himself, and to give him the mothering attention he so obviously needs… What's not to love, right? Hopefully people won't think I'm completely daft, and will enjoy reading these little snapshots as much as I've enjoyed writing them._

_Standard disclaimers apply. Gladys Scarapelli is my own creation, but all others are not mine. I make no money, and I'm only borrowing the characters for a little while. I promise to return them in (relatively) good condition._

_Un-betaed, cuz I can't stand the suspense of waiting to see what you all think… My apologies for any mistakes. As always, reviews and constructive criticism are welcome!_

_Without further ado…_

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The Landlady Series

Gladys Scarapelli believed in three things. Well, truth be told, she held a great many beliefs, but only maintained three with absolute certainty and conviction. She believed, absolutely, that one day, when her time was come, the good Lord would lift her up into the heavens where she would be once again reunited with her beloved Antonio who had passed, God rest him, nearly six years ago now.

She believed, unwaveringly, in the spirit of her country and the proud service men and women who risked life and limb daily, all so she could sit on her porch every morning and evening while sipping her coffee (or perhaps something a bit stronger) and watch as life moved around her in this "Land of the Free" and "Home of the Brave."

And she believed completely in her own instincts. She never claimed to be psychic. It was a just a certain - intuition. Call it a gut feeling, if you like. She simply knew that ever so often she would experience certain - feelings. They would come upon her at the most random of times. No set pattern as such. Just a tingle here, a niggle in the back of her mind there, a twisting in her stomach and a dead-certainty about some person or event. They would come upon her gradually - like the build-up from a lover's caress, or they would slam into her with the full force of a steam engine running full-tilt straight at her. Sometimes they were random, inconsequential things - like the times when she knew without a doubt that the milk had turned sour well before she had even opened the refrigerator. Other times they would be in regards to items of such magnitude that she would fairly vibrate with the intense emotion of it - like the time she heard Antonio call her name, and she knew without a doubt that it would be the last time she heard his voice.

The feeling that hit her as she opened the door to the young man with the sparkling sea foam eyes and the Colgate smile landed somewhere in between. This gut feeling told her that this boy with his floppy-haired good looks and his radiating charm would become an important figure in her life. Instinct told her there was a depth to the young man that went far beneath the exterior polish, and she would do well to take a chance on him. And instinct had never failed her before.

"Mrs. Scarapelli?" She was unsurprised by the smooth rumble to his voice, and mused silently that it had no doubt been a contributing factor to what she imagined would be a lengthy trail of tossed skirts and broken hearts scattered behind the virile young man.

"Yes." She didn't think it was possible, but at her affirmation his grin actually widened, showcasing a matching set of dimples just visible on his smooth-shaven cheeks.

"I'm Anthony DiNozzo." He raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner. "We spoke on the phone?"

"About the townhouse. Yes. I remember."

"I know it's late…" his head dropped and he looked apologetically up at her through a thick fringe of lashes. "I appreciate you showing it to me on such short notice. Some days it's kind of difficult to get away from work at a decent hour."

"Not to worry, Dear." she soothed as she reached up for the keys hanging by the door. "I'm an old woman. Don't need much sleep these days." Straightening her sweater over her shoulders she stepped onto the porch, carefully locking the door behind her. "It's just next door." She explained as she led him across the porch to the door thirty feet from her own. "It's a corner unit, lots of windows so there's plenty of light and cross ventilation, and you only have one common wall. That's the good news."

"And the bad news?"

"That common wall is shared with the landlord." She was unable to suppress a smile of her own as he chuckled from behind her.

"Somehow I don't think that will end up being a problem." He flashed his teeth at her once more in a captivating smile, and she had to be the first to admit that she was smitten.

"Just you wait, young man. The first time you want to bring a pretty girl home you won't want to be worried about what the old lady next door can or can't hear through the walls, now, will you?" She couldn't help but bait him a little. Her own gregarious nature felt a spark the moment she first spoke to young Anthony, and she knew with complete certainty that their personalities were totally simpatico.

His teasing response only cemented the impression in her mind.

"You could always take out your hearing aids before bed." He smirked, a glint of amusement in his hazel eyes. "That would save us both from what could be a rather uncomfortable morning after, don't you think?"

"You would deny an old woman her vicarious pleasures? For shame, young man!"

His eyes went wide at her scolding tone, a smile just barely hidden beneath the surface. "No Ma'am! Never!"

Gladys bark of laughter accompanied the click of the key in the lock as she opened the door an led him inside. She was proud of this unit. The remodel had been completed two weeks ago, and the contractors had performed beautifully. The front door opened into a small entryway, which merged into the main room. It was an expansive space, extending the length of the unit and transitioning well into the dining room and kitchen just beyond the grand staircase. The pocket skylights two stories overhead flooded the room with late afternoon sunlight, and the golden rays gleamed off the polished maple flooring.

"It's beautiful." Anthony's voice was hushed with just a touch of awe as he walked the length of the room, pausing in the corner to run a hand over the hearth above the river stone fireplace before turning in place to survey the rest of the room. "Elegant, yet comfortable." he complimented.

Gladys beamed with the praise. "I really wanted a place that someone would be able to make into a home." She explained. "It's perfect for a family." She enthused. "Or a young person might find it the right home for entertaining." She pointed out the open breakfast bar that segued into the gourmet kitchen, and the formal dining area just beyond. Gesturing toward the left she brought his attention to the grand staircase that curved up to the loft-style walkway above. "There's three bedrooms, and a bath upstairs. The master bedroom - at the end of the hall - has it's own ensuite with separate glass block shower and Jacuzzi tub. And a smaller room or office and half-bath downstairs - just on the other side of the staircase." She followed him throughout the home, in turn pointing out the amenities, or simply standing silent while he just absorbed the place.

"You've done a fabulous job." Anthony complimented as they emerged back onto the wraparound porch. "You said it's ready right away?"

"Mm hmm." she nodded as she turned the key, locking first the front door and then the ornate iron security screen.

"I'd like to put down a deposit." The young man got straight to the point - eager, yet a little apprehensive at the same time.

"Let's get the paperwork filled out." Gladys motioned him back across the porch to the pair of rockers just outside her front door, and handed him a clipboard with a thick stack of documents and a ballpoint pen. "Now tell me again." she invited. "You said you're in the Navy?"

The dimple flashed in his right cheek again. "Well - I work for the Navy. And the Marine Corps. For NCIS."

Gladys nodded along as he kept up a running commentary while he remained bent to the task of filling out the numerous pages of applications. She held up a pitcher of iced tea, silently offering a glass, and smiled when he nodded assent. He radiated a certain kinetic energy as he spoke of his job as a Federal Agent, and working for a man he simply called 'Gibbs', and Gladys felt a sparkle of joy and a sense of coming home. She would run the paperwork through, go through the proper channels, but she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was looking at the young man who would soon become her newest tenant and neighbor.

TBC


	2. Lazy Sunday Chores

_**A/N** - Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! I'm clicking away as the chapter ideas keep coming to me - but for now we're still setting the story a bit. Chapter two is more character building as Gladys gets to know her newest tenant. Still pre-season, so no spoilers as yet. Hope you enjoy!_

_Disclaimer - Still don't own 'em. sigh_

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**The Landlady, Chapter 2: Lazy Sunday Chores**

As Gladys stepped through the wooden gate that marked the boundary between her back yard and the community parking lot, she registered a feeling of imbalance. Something was off. And it wasn't the torturous squalling that accompanied the closing of the gate. That dad-blamed spring had been in need of a good WD-40 bath for months now! No. Something else was askew. She puzzled over it a while, rolling it around in her head as she made the short trek to the small shed across the way and stacked her cart with various and sundry gardening implements. It was after she slid the metal doors closed behind her and began to push the trolley toward the side yard that realization finally dawned.

Parked in the far corner, in the dappled early-morning shade of the ancient Maple tree, was a sleek black sports car. Normally, such an appearance would cause her only a moment's pause. The complex had thirty units in all, eight that framed this particular lot, and while she knew most of the tenant's vehicles by sight, it wasn't unheard of for the occasional unfamiliar one to show up. A new purchase perhaps, or a visitor who chose to park out back instead of on the street.

This particular car, however, fit into neither of these two categories. Gladys recognized it as belonging to none other than her newest tenant; one Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. Perhaps it was the recognition in the back of her mind that kept her from immediately registering the oddity of the situation, but once she consciously placed the car, her suspicions were instantly roused. In the six short weeks since he'd taken up residence, Gladys had come to learn that her young neighbor seemed to prefer parking at the curb in front of the building, rather than back here. The parking lot was safe enough - more so than the street due to the security gate, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Anthony preferred the curb based on the ease of sight. The back lot was obscured by the six-foot high fence that surrounded the building on three sides, and defined the individual yards for each unit. The expansive windows that looked out over the front porch, however, provided an obstacle-free view to the curb and the quiet street beyond. Anthony could easily keep tabs on his pride-and-joy (for the classic muscle car could be considered nothing less than that, given the pristine condition in which it was lovingly maintained) from the comfort of his own living room.

Why, then, she wondered, was it suddenly parked out back?

A rattling noise pulled her attention away from the lot and back toward the building just in time to see the mop-haired young man disappear off his back porch. Seconds later the gate swung open and Anthony made his appearance. Suddenly the mystery was solved, and Gladys felt a bit silly with her own overactive imaginings of mischief and mayhem. His hair, devoid of the fancy gels he usually seemed to favor, flitted about his head in the breeze, the chestnut strands dancing in the morning sunlight, and he was outfitted in a two-toned red and black basketball jersey, black shorts and expensive-looking leather sport-sandals - looking for all the world like he could have just stepped off the pages of a magazine. He was perhaps more appropriately suited for the local park or gym, but the towel slung over his shoulder and the garden hose and cumbersome bucket piled high with various bottles that he juggled as he pulled the gate closed revealed he had different intentions. It would seem she wasn't the only one who planned a Sunday morning of outdoor chores.

Humming softly to herself, Gladys continued forward, pushing her cart in front of her and toward the sidewalk that ran around the side of the building. Even with his eyes concealed behind the dark sunglasses, she could tell the moment he realized she was there. He tossed his head back, favored her with one of his dazzling smiles, and his dimples came out to play.

"Morning Mrs. S.!"

How in the world could she be expected to keep her heart from melting at such a genuine expression of joy, simply because he was pleased to see her? She felt her own face light-up, even as she shook her head admonishingly.

"Anthony, my boy. When are you ever going to call me Gladys?"

He lifted a brow and tilted his head rakishly to the side. "When you call me Tony?" She chuckled at the mocking tone. This was a conversation they'd held several times over the past few weeks, and it never failed to amuse her.

"Brat!" she huffed as she passed him and continued around to the side of the house.

His resonant laugh followed her, coupled with the teasing rejoinder of "Geezer!", and she was unable to suppress her own snort of delight.

The sun had made a spectacular appearance, and by the time it reached its zenith, the heat had become intense. Gladys had abandoned her gardening a good forty minutes ago in favor of the shade on the porch and the refreshing combination of her favorite rocker, a breeze from the waterfront and an ice-cold Miller Lite from the frosted bucket on the deck by her side.

She'd closed her eyes and let the cheerful sounds of a lazy Sunday and the soft buzz of alcohol pull her into a light doze. It seemed only moments later that a deep-throated purr interrupted her contemplation of the inside of her eyelids, and pulled her toward awareness.

She turned toward the sound and caught the mid-day sun sparkling off the glossy black surface of the freshly detailed car. Anthony pulled into the curb, and with one final growl the ignition died and the buzz of insects and faint sounds of children's laughter once again dominated the peaceful neighborhood. She watched as Anthony secured a pair of reflecting shades against the windshield, before he swung the door open and unfolded his lean frame from the low-slung car. He shut the door and bent over to rub at a spot on the side-view mirror, before engaging the alarm with a duo-toned bleep and aiming himself toward the porch.

"Sure is a beauty!" Gladys called out.

"That she is, Gladdy. That she is." He stepped up into the shade of the porch and let out an audible sigh as he pulled off his sunglasses and swiped a hand over his sweat-dampened face.

"Looks like you could use a breather, boy." She nodded toward the matching rocker on her right. "Take a load off."

"Don't mind if I do." He crossed the wooden slats, with steps surprisingly light for such a solid man, and lowered himself into the chair, scrubbing his hands through his hair and leaving the sweaty mop sticking up at odd angles about his head.

Gladys fished into the bucket by her side and held out an icy bottle. "Need to hydrate in this heat."

His low chuckle rumbled across the space between them, and with a lopsided grin and a nod of thanks, he relieved her of the bottle. He twisted the cap off and tipped the bottle up for a generous swallow. Gladys watched as he downed half the bottle in one swig. A drop of sweat, either from the bottle or his previous exertions, trickled its way down his jaw and throat, past his bobbing adams apple, to disappear into the tuft of hair just visible above the v-neck of his jersey.

"Thanks!" He gestured, tipping the bottle toward her in a sort of half-toast, and let out a soft belch as he leaned back in the chair and let his eyes drift closed. "Though, I'm not so sure this is what the health-professionals had in mind when they spoke about adequate hydration."

"'s got water in it, don't it?" Gladys reasoned as she popped the top on her second bottle, the last she would allow herself for the day, and tipped out a much more sensible mouthful. She huffed a laugh at his up stretched eyebrows and the half-grin that twitched on his lips.

"Can't argue with that logic, Gladdy."

"Don't know why you'd even try." She returned. "Won't win."

"Someone's gotta keep you on your toes." He slid a teasing glance toward her. "Don't want you goin' senile before your time now, do we?"

His cajoling comeback caught her unawares and the resulting bark of surprised laughter was coupled with the first spit-take Gladys had ever experienced. When the choking guffaws had finally subsided, and he excess moisture had been hastily swiped from her chin, she let herself collapse back against the chair and gave off a pleasant sigh.

"Lord-a-mercy, Anthony! You'll like to test my heart - but you are good for my soul."

The dancing spark of mirth dimmed from his eyes ever so slightly, subtly muted by a deeper emotion she was uncertain how to name. He lightly touched the neck of his bottle to hers, then tipped his head back, pausing a moment as a gentle smile softened his lips. "Mrs. S.," he drained the bottle in one final gulp, then glanced back toward her. "The feeling… Is entirely mutual."

TBC

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_A/N - Next chapter… Gladdy meets the vivacious Abby Scuito - And Gibbs might make an appearance! Stay tuned!_

_SSW_


	3. Yankee White

The Landlady-

Season One-Yankee White

"Shit!"

The soft expletive, coupled with the harsh jangle of keys being dropped onto the wooden porch slats, roused Gladys from the light doze she had fallen into. As she shook away the dregs of sleep she could just make out a soft groan over the monotonous drone of the radio as the newscaster reported once again on the thwarted assassination attempt – for anyone still hiding under a rock who had yet to hear of the event. She flicked the radio off and pulled herself up from the vintage rocker, focusing her attention on the shadowy form of her neighbor at the end of the porch. He grunted as he bent at the waist to retrieve his keys.

"Anthony?"

"Hey Mrs. S." He flashed a smile over his shoulder as he slowly stood back up, keys in hand. "Didn't mean to wake you. Sorry 'bout that." The words were classic DiNozzo avoidance. She'd come to recognize the ploy from the young man with whom she'd managed a unique bond over the past months. The tightness in his voice, however, along with the stiffness of his movements belied his nonchalant air.

"Just one of my catnaps, Anthony." She dismissed, going for casual in hopes of throwing him off guard. "Nothing to concern yourself over." She'd moved closer as she spoke, and couldn't help but notice the tremor in his hand as the key rattled against the doorknob before finding purchase in the lock.

"Oh, Dear," she breathed out with a sigh and offered up a brief prayer for the young man who never seemed to know when to stop taking care of others long enough to take care of himself.

'That's why the good lord sent him to you, Gladys,' she silently reminded herself.

"What have you gone and done to yourself this time, Anthony?" Placing an arm about his waist, she pushed the door open, flicking the light on and taking the pack from his shoulder in one move as she ushered him through the door.

"Just a minor altercation." He tossed her his trademark grin, but the usual sparkle in his hazel eyes was dulled, and the fact that he leaned into her support, rather than blustered away spoke volumes about his level of fatigue. "Nothing wounded but my pride." As he spoke he eased down onto the luxurious leather couch, only to wince slightly before readjusting himself and settling down at a different angle.

"Keep your pride in your tailbone these days, do you?" Gladys mused aloud.

His chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest, and while brief it managed to assure her that he was quite a long ways yet from knocking on death's door. "Can't hide anything from you, can I Mrs. S.?"

"Not a chance my boy." She huffed. "Don't know why you still bother to try."

He smirked. "Gotta keep ya on your toes Gladdy." He laid his head back and, closing his eyes, let out a deep sigh. Catching a glimpse of the charcoal smudges that had the effect of sinking his eyes into his otherwise pale face, she couldn't even bring herself to scold him over the pet name with which he'd taken great delight in teasing her of late. He was clearly exhausted.

She was reminded none too subtly of the dangers of his job, and she sent up another prayer. This one a prayer of thanks that he had been delivered back into her care. Granted a bit more disheveled then when last she'd seen him, but nevertheless alive and whole. She realized that she hadn't seen his car in the drive over the past few days, and she wondered at what could have been the cause of his obvious fatigue and pain.

"What happened, Anthony?"

"Oh. You know," he sighed. "Just your every-day friendly game of keep away from the Feebs."

"Anthony DiNozzo!" she scolded. "Such disrespect!" She continued into the house, moving to the kitchen where she pulled cupboards open and rifled through the fridge, all the while calling out over her shoulder. "Why – if you were my boy, I'd tan your hide for such a remark! You of all people should know the difficulties they face in their job each day. The least you could do is show a little kindness and respect!"

"'m too tired to be nice." The mumbled reply was just barely audible over the sound of milk pouring into a glass.

"What was that?" she called with a warning edge to her voice.

"Won't happen again, Ma'am!"

She chuckled to herself, amused that she still had the "Mom" quality to her voice even after 40 years. The boy sure knew when to submit to authority. That much was certain. She wondered, not for the first time, who instilled in him such a respect. Was it something ingrained in him from childhood, or was it a more recent trait he'd taken on. Perhaps this Gibbs he often spoke of had something to do with it? She wondered also about his mother. Wondered if she were still alive, and if so, how she managed to keep herself scarce from her remarkable son's life. Since he'd moved in nearly a year ago now, Gladys had yet to see any visitors that could be considered more than temporary dalliances, fair-weather friends, or co-workers - nary a family member in the bunch. No son of hers would go so long without family at his doorstep. Even without the constant worry associated with a dangerous federal job, she would still wish to keep up with her son – be a part of his life. She shook the morose thoughts from her head and vowed anew to offer the support he so clearly needed – whether he would admit it or not.

She shook two tablets out of the bottle of pain relievers that he kept in the cupboard and placed them on the tray alongside the glass of milk and peanut-butter sandwich she had thrown together. She imagined the ibuprofen wouldn't take his pain completely away, but it would most likely take the edge off and bring it down to a manageable level.

Hefting the tray in both hands, she made her way back to the front room, only to pause at the sight before her. Anthony had kicked off his shoes under the coffee table, and his sock-clad feet were propped up on the oak surface. He'd removed his badge and gun, but still cradled them in his hand which lay limply on the cushion beside him. His head was tipped back into the corner of the sofa, his eyes were closed and soft noises slipped past his parted lips as he let out the deep even breaths of a man well on his way to Narnia.

"Not so fast, young man." Gladys chided gently from across the room. "Come on, Anthony. Wake up!" She set the tray down with a clatter, and his body jerked as he startled awake. His eyes flew open wide and flicked to her face. He blinked owlishly a few times before his mind caught up with reality and the confusion cleared, only to be replaced by a grimace as he became aware of the myriad aches and pains.

"Gladdy? You're still here?" He yawned, but the accompanying stretch was quickly aborted as he winced anew. "You didn't have to stay."

"I'm not." She gestured to his hand. "Now put that thing up, and come have something to eat."

He glanced down, somewhat startled to realize he still held his service weapon in his hand. He quickly released the clip and checked the chamber before placing it back into the holster and concealing both it and his badge in the drawer hidden beneath the coffee table.

"Kinda late for dinner, don't ya think?" He slid forward and raised an eyebrow at her, holding her gaze for a moment before dropping his eyes to the tray before him. He plucked the pain killers from her outstretched hand and washed them down with a healthy swallow of milk.

"You need to keep up your strength, Anthony." Gladys admonished. "Eat a healthy meal, then go up to bed. Fallin' asleep on the couch is no way to recover from your pains." The tips of his ears flushed, and somehow she knew he wasn't used to someone paying attention to how he took care of himself. She was pleased to note, however, that in spite of his weariness he fairly inhaled the peanut butter sandwich.

He swished the last mouthful of milk around before swallowing it down, and let out a soft belch. "Compliments to the cook." he smiled in apology.

She shook her head and pointed toward the stairs. "Bed, young man."

"Yes Ma'am." She grimaced in sympathy at his stiff movements as he unfolded himself and pushed up from the couch. As he passed where she sat perched on the edge of the coffee table, he bent his head, and she lifted her cheek for his soft kiss. "Thanks, Gladdy."

"You're welcome, boy." She patted his cheek and smiled softly. "Now off to bed with you. I'll let myself out." She picked up the tray, transferring it to the breakfast bar, and then watched as he shuffled slowly up the stairs and into the master suite before she doused the lights and locked up behind her.

TBC


End file.
